Saturday, September 26, 2015

Morning row after the equinox

The predawn black with its tight grasp on the world swallows me as I shove off the dock. My oars slice through a misty aloneness that is both calm and wary. 8 kilometers of silent rowing until the edge of night starts smudging with grey. I spin in the basin and face the city skyline edged in a scarlet aura of possibility. The red sky expands, stretching fingers of light into the fading ebony of night, then leaps down to the water around me and the world explodes in a wildfire of dawn.

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